Forfeits
by A Darker Shade
Summary: The Turks are on a night out. Will any of them get what they want? Reno/Tseng, but the only smut is Reno's 'jokes'. It was all Cassie's fault for suggesting that stupid game... M for Reno's innuendos.


**Tseng/Reno again. No smut, sorry. Sometimes I don't think things are destined to work out between these two, but then you never know...**

**The Turks are on a night out. "Before Crisis" Turks - Cassie = Shotgun, Rod = Rod, Freya = Gun, Nic = Knives, Asher = Nunchucks (name stolen from CameoAmalthea). Knives' suggested crush on Reno is stolen from Licoriceallsorts, and Asher's crush on Knives from CameoAmalthea.**

* * *

**Forfeits**

"No – shut _up_ Reno, _I'm_ explaining it," Cassie said, distributing pages torn from the small spiral-bound notebook she'd blagged from Freya. She sighed as Reno deftly folded his page into a plane and launched it at Rod, who ducked. Tseng plucked the plane from its surprisingly smooth trajectory over Rod's spiky red head and threw it back at Reno. "Not bad aerodynamics," he observed. Reno grinned. "Told you I could fly anything."

"Fly this," said Cassie, throwing a pen at Reno, and trying hard not to look impressed when he caught it right handed. Even after three – four? – beers, Reno's reflexes were unusually fast.

"Right," said Cassie, her tone even more 'head girl' than usual, "does everyone have paper and something to write with?"

Rude nodded. Freya, Rod, Nic, Asher and Tseng all said yes like normal human beings, while Reno whooped, "Yup!" waving the pen Cassie had thrown above his head like some kind of trophy.

"Okay. Now, everyone writes an instruction on the paper. It has to be something you can do to one other member of the group – we are not harassing civilians."

Rod snorted into his drink. Cassie glared at him. "Nothing pornographic."

"Nothing that will bring the department into disrepute," Tseng added, with a meaningful glance at Reno. "Clothes stay on."

"Is the hard shit okay if it happens out of sight – like – under the table?" Reno asked. Amid the chorus of no's which answered his question, he turned to Asher and asked, "How do you spell 'fellate'?"

"Reno!" Cassie groaned.

"That wouldn't be fair anyway," Freya said mildly. "It has to be something we can all receive as well as give. Three of us are female, in case you hadn't noticed." Reno laughed. Sometimes quiet Freya was the dirtiest of the lot of them. "Okay, okay," he conceded. "_Head_ I can spell."

"Examples we used at uni," Cassie said, deciding that ignoring Reno was the best policy, "were things like, 'compose a poem to', or 'dance with'."

Reno stretched. "Sounds boring. When does the drinking come in?"

"It's not a drinking game as such – but we used to drink each time someone did one of the forfeits."

Not wanting to spoil the congenial atmosphere, Reno demurred, although privately he thought the whole thing sounded like something Rufus Shinra had probably played at his birthday parties when he was about eight. Cassie and her 'uni' and her cut-glass accent provoked an instantaneous, instinctive hostility in him that he knew was pure class prejudice. She was a good Turk, no question. Without her deadly accuracy with that shotgun the eight of them would most likely not be sitting in this way too clean and tidy Upper Seven bar unscathed from their confrontation with the Draug gang down in Under Two. Still, try as he might – and for the sake of harmony he really _did_ try – something about Cassie's manner wound him up. Little blond Asher now, virtually aristocracy - he'd been at the same exclusive school as Rufus Shinra himself and yet _he_ managed to get on with everyone without rubbing their noses in his wealth and privilege.

"What did you put, huh?" Reno whispered to Rude, who had folded his paper neatly and returned it to Cassie. "I'm all out of ideas. Clean ones, anyway."

"I'm not telling," Rude replied, folding his arms. "No one's supposed to know who wrote which forfeit.

"Think 'kiss' would be okay?"

"I expect so."

"Think I should add, 'with tongues'?"

"You might pick my name."

Reno stuck out his tongue and waggled his eyebrows in what was possibly supposed to be a provocative fashion. "Fine with that, partner!"

"I'd bite."

"Ooh, kinky!"

Rude contented himself with cuffing Reno lightly around the head. Reno scrawled 'kiss' on the wing of his paper plane and threw it back to Cassie who caught it, undid it and folded it into a neat square before adding it to a pile of slips in the middle of the table.

"One missing," Cassie said. "Who hasn't done theirs yet?"

"Me," said Nic, balancing her sheet of paper on her knee, frowning in concentration. She was trying to think of something that wouldn't be too embarrassing if a _certain person_ picked her name. She was afraid that Reno might actually have written 'kiss' on his paper, as she'd heard him suggesting to Rude, and if he happened to get that, and her name… But the chances were small weren't they? Seven times eight was it? Or something factorial? Her brain wouldn't work properly thinking about the possibility of Reno doing anything to her, even just composing a poem or singing a song. Whatever it was, she knew she'd blush crimson and give away her stupid crush. Quickly she wrote 'hug' on her paper, and handed it to Cassie. At least if Reno hugged her, or she him, she could hide her face against his shoulder. Hugs were fine. Friendly. It would be all right, anyway. Reno wouldn't pick her. She wouldn't pick Reno. Not unless fate was being especially cruel.

Reno was busy considering the group of Turks around the table. Turks were a pretty hot bunch when you thought about it; he really wouldn't mind kissing any of them. Rude – yeah, well, joking aside, he'd sometimes wondered what that would be like. Reno would describe himself as inquisitive - most other people would say plain nosy – and he frequently found his mind straying to such matters. In fact he'd once had a very interesting conversation with Trig about who was the hottest member of the Turks, which had led on to other interesting things… Shame Trig wasn't here tonight. Rude was always flawlessly dressed and completely professional. Would he kiss by the book too, or would he let himself go? Maybe after a few more drinks he'd loosen up enough for Reno to find out. Cassie really would most likely bite his tongue off if he tried anything. She'd be chilly to the point of giving him frostbite; he was willing to bet on that. Little Nic – oh no. That would have to be a kiss on the cheek, because she was as close as he'd ever come to having a kid sister. Freya, he wasn't sure about. She was always so calm and collected. She'd probably kiss well, but completely without embarrassment, which would kinda take away some of the fun. Rod – huh. Yeah, they'd just ham it up, and let the girls pretend to get all hot and bothered over the show. Asher. Hmm. Ash was a pretty kid, no denying. Might be fun, if he was up for it. And Tseng. Ah. Shoulda thought of that before really. Reno actually felt his heartbeat speeding up at the thought of kissing Tseng. He told himself the chances were low, and that was a _good_ thing, because Tseng was out of bounds if anyone was. And when had that ever stopped Reno doing anything? Reno picked up his bottle of beer, smiling thoughtfully. Perhaps this dumb game of Cassie's wasn't going to be so bad after all.

"Rod," Cassie instructed in the high-handed manner that made Reno wince, "fetch two clean pint glasses from the bar. Now, we put the forfeits in one glass, and our names in the other, and take it in turns to pull out a name and a forfeit. I've made slips with our names on already."

"What if we pull out our own name?" Freya asked.

"Then you get to choose whether to pass or pick again. But no one passes unless they're chicken."

Rod returned and set the two glasses in the middle of the large, circular table. Cassie scooped up the forfeits and placed them in one glass, and put the names in the other. "I'll start, since I suggested the game," Cassie said.

"I'll drink to that," Reno said, raising his bottle.

Cassie put her hand into the first glass. "Okay," she said, reading the slip of paper, "I have to hug…" She pulled a name slip out of the second glass and announced, "Rude! Excellent." Cassie walked around the table to Rude's chair and told him to stand up, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a hard squeeze. Rude took it in good part, lifting her off the ground. When he set her down again and released her, Cassie smiled. "See? That's how it goes. Forfeit done – everyone drink. Play passes to the left."

Nic was next. Her hand trembled as she drew her forfeit, which was 'sing a romantic song to…' but she relaxed as soon as she found that the recipient was Asher. He did a good job of pretending to gaze longingly into her eyes as she sang a verse of a popular love song in her tuneful, slightly husky voice. When she'd finished everyone applauded before drinking again. Reno even said, "Nice voice, kid." Nic gulped her vodka and tonic gratefully. She'd come through her first turn unscathed, and Reno had actually sounded sincere in his compliment!

Rod followed Nic, his forfeit being to compose an ode to Cassie. He tried to wriggle out of it by handing her a ten gil note and saying, "That's what I 'ode' for the drinks", but she laughed and shook her head. "Nice try, but no cigar. I demand a proper poem."

Rod looked around the table for help. "C'mon guys! I don't even know what an ode is!"

"It's like saying how great something is – with rhymes," Reno told him. "Like 'Oh Cass, thou art the hottest chick / Who ever sat on Roddy's –'"

"Yeah, yeah, very funny," Rod interrupted quickly. "What is it really, Cassie?"

"Actually, he's basically right – _basic_ being the operative word," Cassie said, giving Reno a look that was full of such patronising surprise that he had to look away before he made some sarcastic comment that would spoil the atmosphere.

"Yeah well, I went to school – sometimes," he said instead.

"Only it should be longer," Cassie added.

Reno raised his eyebrows. "Who ever sat on Roddy's _longer_ dick?" He shrugged. "Well, it don't really fit the rhythm, but I guess it's always fun to vary that a bit, huh?"

Cassie only sighed. "Longer than two lines," she said to Rod, pointedly turning away from Reno. "Look, we'll get on with the next forfeit, and you can have the rest of this round to write me a proper ode."

"And you can have my opening lines for free," Reno said generously.

"Thanks!" replied Rod with a grateful look at Reno, but Cassie shook her head. "Don't even think about it."

"Well, _I_ made up a poem, so I'm drinkin'," said Reno pushing back his chair and standing. "Refills?"

Nic watched him heading for the bar, impressed with the way he always remembered everyone's drink orders. When Reno returned it was Tseng's turn.

"Give a compliment to… Reno," Tseng read out.

"Not fair!" Cassie exclaimed. "They weren't meant to be impossible."

Reno only shot her a withering look that failed to wither her in any way at all. Tseng, however, appeared to be having difficulty coming up with a response. Reno stared at him. "C'mon boss – can't be that hard!" he prompted.

"You are – one of the most impressive street fighters I've ever seen," Tseng said.

"No, no, no," Cassie told him, starting to sound a little tipsy, wagging her finger like a parody of an old-fashioned schoolteacher. "This is a _bar game_ for crying out loud, not a performance review! You have to give him a compliment about his _looks_!"

Reno grinned, making a sweeping gesture that took in his whole body from head to toe. "Take ya pick, boss."

"I – um – I suppose…" Tseng looked at Reno. Reno looked back, his grin fading, his eyes narrowing a little as the silence threatened to become uncomfortable.

"You have – nice – wrists," Tseng managed at last.

The Turks around the table collapsed into laughter that was part relief that the tension had been broken and part genuine amusement.

"Priceless!" Cassie spluttered into her vodka. "That's _it_? Nice _wrists_ Reno."

Even Freya snorted. "No – but, Reno – that was funny."

"And you think you're such hot stuff, too," Cassie added. "How'd you get such 'nice wrists' anyway, Reno? Work them out a lot do you?"

Rod, still attempting to compose his poem on the back of a beer mat, gave a bark of laughter. Even Rude was smiling. Reno feigned indifference, drinking his whiskey with an insouciant smile of his own, but Tseng's obvious difficulty in finding anything much to admire in him smarted more than he cared to admit even to himself.

_Thanks a lot, boss_, he fumed internally, wounded and angry. And here he'd thought Tseng had been dropping a few hints recently about the possibility of promotion at some point. He'd been subtly but definitely mentoring Reno – or at least, so Reno had begun to believe. Perhaps he'd been wrong? Not prone to insecurity, Reno was used to assessing people's reactions to him through the filter of his normally robust self-confidence. Generally he was perfectly genuine when he claimed not to give a fuck about what others thought of him. But now he had to acknowledge that Tseng was an exception. He _did _mind what Tseng thought of him, and as hard as he'd been trying to ignore a couple of things that made him uneasy - Tseng's apparent unwillingness to pair himself with Reno on missions, for example, and the fact that Tseng seemed to be keeping a more watchful eye on _his_ work performance than he did on most of the others - those niggling worries had been present for some time now. Perhaps Cassie was right to accuse him of seeing himself as 'hot stuff' and all the time Tseng's appraisal of him had actually been lukewarm at best? Or was even that putting too much of a positive spin on the situation?

Trying to focus on his professional disappointment, Reno pushed his other, more personal feelings to the back of his mind. So Tseng had struggled to find anything positive to say about him on a physical level – so fucking what? Plenty of people seemed to like his looks well enough didn't they? Not like Reno had any trouble picking up people in bars whenever he felt like getting laid.

_Yeah, sure,_ drunk_ people_, suggested an insidious voice in his head_. One night stands with nothing to lose and no intention of sticking around. But did you seriously ever think you'd interest someone like Tseng? Sure, you're kind of okay looking, but you're too thin, and you're not well dressed like Rude, you make 'basic' jokes like Cassie said, and – be honest – you look kinda skanky a lot of the time… Huh. Maybe 'nice wrists' really is the best thing he could find to say about you._

Reno had to make a conscious effort not to look at his wrists as the game continued. Barely registering Rude's turn – a dance with Freya – and his own – a quick hug with Nic, who put her arms around him in a comforting fashion and rested her head against his shoulder for a moment - Reno downed another drink – how many was that now? - and made for the bar again while Cassie was being serenaded by Asher who was singing the farewell song from "Loveless" in a rich tenor.

"Need a hand carrying?"

Reno turned to find that Rude had followed him. "Yeah. Thanks. Let's – not rush back, huh? Stupid game."

Rude watched the barman pouring drinks. "You know he didn't mean it as an insult."

"What?"

"Tseng."

"I don't wanna talk about Tseng. Fucker." Reno chewed his bottom lip angrily, then turned to Rude, unable to keep quiet. "Come on, Rude! How else could he've meant it? I mean, what the fuck kinda compliment is that?"

"I think he meant it."

"What – that my fuckin' wrists are nice?"

"Yeah."

"No way. Who the hell notices what a person's _wrists_ are like?"

"Someone who's really looked," Rude replied, picking up four bottles of beer and heading back to the table, where Rod was busy telling Nic in exaggerated terms what lovely eyes she had.

Reno followed Rude, thinking about his words. Had Tseng 'really looked'? If so, was that a good thing – or had he looked and found nothing worth commenting on apart from Reno's wrists? _Chicks're always sayin' I have 'pretty eyes', _he thought. _Couldn't he just have said that? Or the hair? People always mention the hair. _Preoccupied, Reno handed the rest of the drinks to their recipients, then sat in uncharacteristic silence, frowning slightly. Without thinking about it he turned his hands palms up and stared at his wrists, then he caught himself and looked up furtively only to meet Tseng's gaze. _Damn it!_

Reno looked away, glad of the distraction when Tseng had to take his turn, telling a joke to Rod. Tseng surprised everyone with an impressively filthy joke about Leviathan and the Midgar Zolom that made Asher choke on his drink. Reno found himself laughing in spite of his anger at Tseng. To Reno's immediate right, Rude drew the name and forfeit for his turn.

"Huh. Knew it would happen. 'Kiss' and 'Reno'," Rude sighed. "Okay. Let's get this done."

"Ah – you know you were just waitin' for an excuse like this," Reno grinned, trying to get back into the party mood. "C'mon Partner – make it good."

To the catcalls and cheers of most of the rest of the table, Rude took Reno's face between his hands and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

"Not bad," Reno judged, "but, hey, Baby, slow it down a little next time, huh?" Rude's only reply was an amused, 'hm'.

Assisted by alcohol, Reno gradually relaxed again. Play continued between trips to the bar. Rod finished his ode to Cassie, which concluded with the memorable lines, "Face it, Shotty, You're a hottie", and then groaned in disbelief when he drew the same forfeit for Rude. Freya was in the bathroom, so play passed to Tseng. With the others still laughing at Rod's despair at having to write another poem, no one but Reno noticed Tseng looking surreptitiously at the name he'd drawn, ripping the top edge a tiny amount, then quickly dropping it back into the glass and picking another one. "Kiss Freya," he read. "Okay – when she gets back. Rude – your turn."

When it was his go, after Rude had serenaded Asher, Reno found the ripped piece of paper without difficulty. As he'd expected, he read out his own name, unable to help an angry glance in Tseng's direction.

"Pick again," Cassie called.

"Nope. I'm out. Need to piss." Reno shoved back his chair and turned away, shoving the torn paper with his name written on it into his pocket.

"Chicken!" Cassie shouted, making the obligatory clucking sounds. Reno ignored her, walking straight past the bathroom and out into the street. Shit. What the hell had he done to make Tseng hate him so much? It was just a fucking game! Why did he care about it, anyway? So he had some kind of stupid crush on Tseng – well, that wasn't exactly news; that had been going on for months. Years, if he was honest. But in any fantasies he might have entertained about acting on his feelings Reno had always assumed that the barriers would be professional ones. Veld actively discouraged relationships between members of his department, and since Tseng already functioned as the chief's unofficial second, that would only make things more complicated. It had honestly never occurred to Reno that Tseng might find him unattractive – even to the point of going out of his way to avoid having to kiss him in some stupid, childish game. Wasn't like Tseng was a Rude – irrevocably straight. Hell, Reno had been on that major mission in Costa – he'd seen Tseng pick up that mark with one fuckin' _look_, and, yeah, sure, that had been work, but no one got that savvy without some kind of experience.

"Fucked if I'm goin' back in there," Reno muttered under his breath, pulling his PHS out of his pocket, intending to call Rude to ask him to tell the others he was going home. There was a sudden flurry of movement and someone snatched the phone from Reno's fingers and shoved him backwards at the same time, before darting away along the street and into a side alley. Unfortunately for his mugger Reno wasn't anywhere near drunk enough to lose his balance or his speed. With something like relief at having a physical job to do to disperse the tension he was feeling, Reno caught up with the thief in half a minute, tackled him to the ground, then hauled him to his feet and shoved him against the wall. His rage subsided a little when he saw that the would-be thief was just a kid – thirteen or fourteen at most, pale and scrawny, sure, but with hard eyes and a strong, defiant jaw. "Let me go, fuckin' pervert!" the kid was yelling. "Help! I'm bein' attacked by a fuckin' child molester! Help!"

Reno removed his phone from the kid's strong grasp and put it back into his pocket, holding onto the boy with one hand.

"Nice try, kid," he said, without malice. "Pick your target better next time."

"Fuck you!" was the boy's considered response.

Reno's teeth flashed white in the dimly lit alley. "You really wanna piss me off? 'Cause I am not havin' a good day…"

The kid looked at Reno and made the right call. "Okay, okay," he said. "Sorry. Let me go, yeah? I only done it for the money, 'cause me ma's dead, an' me little sister's sick, an' she's all the family I got –"

"Save it," Reno replied. "Get outta here."

The boy's fake-contrite expression changed suddenly to anticipation as he focussed on something over Reno's shoulder.

"You need a hand, Hiko?"

Reno turned, not releasing his grip on the kid. The man standing behind him was almost Rude's size, and flanked by two others of a similar build, all three looking grim.

"Dayton!" the boy exclaimed. "Yeah – get this pervert off-a me! I weren't doin' nothin', I swear!"

Reno let go of Hiko and faced Dayton and his friends. This was more like it.

"That's our brother," Dayton growled.

Reno shrugged. "Sucks for you. Guess you can't choose your family." He looked back at Hiko, who was leaning casually against the wall, smiling smugly. "So," Reno asked him, "which one of these pussies is your sick little sister? 'Cause I have to tell ya, either she's _really_ sick, or she sure ain't no looker."

Dayton looked as though he were trying to think of some comment in reply to that, then gave up and threw a punch which Reno ducked, coming up with a right-handed blow to the man's stomach, and following through with a left uppercut to his jaw. _Here you go, Tseng, _Reno thought, weaving to avoid one of the brothers while getting in a quick back kick to the groin of the one who was trying to sneak up behind him, _you said I was a good street fighter. Guess there's something I can impress you with, huh? _

"Where the hell's Reno gone to?" Cassie asked, slurring slightly. "He's been in a weird mood for the last couple hours. Honestly, he can be such a prick at times!"

Rude looked at Tseng, but said nothing. Nic looked worried. "He did seem a bit quiet. And it's not like him to go off without saying anything. Maybe I should check outside and –"

The sounds of shouting and something heavy crashing into something glass came from outside the bar. Half the patrons ran to the door at once. Tseng and Rude were on their feet.

"Reno?" asked Nic.

"I wouldn't be at all surprised," Cassie commented, keeping to her seat. "Rod – be a sweetheart and get me another drink!"

Rude and Tseng pushed through the crowded bar and out into the street to find Reno engaged in a vicious brawl with a huge man who appeared to be getting the worse of it, but not by much. A little way along the road a second man, who had apparently been thrown through the window of another bar, was being helped to his feet by a third, who seemed to be having trouble persuading his right arm to work properly.

Tseng dealt with Reno's opponent, while Rude hauled a protesting Reno away.

"What the fuck, man? It was nearly over!" Reno exclaimed, turning aside to spit blood onto the ground.

"You're a mess," Rude said, with no detectable sympathy. "Anything broken?"

"Nope, don't reckon." Reno dusted himself off, wincing when he used his right hand.

"Let me see." Rude took hold of his forearm, and touched Reno's wrist carefully.

"Shit!" Reno hissed.

"Broken?"

"Dunno. Maybe sprained. Shame – when it was so 'nice' an' all."

Rude raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? This is about _that_?"

Reno's answering glance could only be described as shifty. "'Course not, don't be stupid."

Tseng approached them, Reno's principal adversary, Dayton, in handcuffs sulking beside him. "I hope there was a reason for this altercation, Reno," Tseng said, sounding completely sober and not a little angry. "I've just had to give five hundred gil to the owner of the Star for the broken window and other damage. Veld's not going to be happy if you've put yourself out of action over some trivial bullshit."

"Hey!" said Reno, his irritation at Tseng spiking again, "I didn't start it! Kid called Hiko snatched my PHS outta my fuckin' hand – and these three fuckers, who claim to be his brothers, objected to me takin' it back."

"Where's the kid?" Tseng asked.

"Long gone. Most likely picked some pockets in the crowd while we were busy and then split."

"Did you hurt him?"

"C'mon, Tseng! He was just a kid. I told him he could go, and then these three jokers showed up. That one threw the first punch. Missed – but that counts, right?"

Tseng sighed. "Yes, that counts. You want them taken in?"

"Hell, no. I ain't processing them. Reckon I gave them what they deserved, yeah?"

"Hey, what about him?" Dayton complained to Tseng, outraged. "Shouldn't you take _him_ in as well, if you're some kinda cop? He's a fuckin' psycho! Broke Den's arm, and threw Ike half way across the street an' through a plate glass window. He says we started it – I say he did. It's his word against mine."

Tseng regarded the bleeding man coldly. "Are you saying you _want_ to be taken in? Because we can do that, but that would mean me sending one of my people after this Hiko, and if we were to find him in possession of stolen goods you'd be responsible for him, assuming he's a minor."

"We come up on the train," Dayton replied. "We ain't from the plate. Underside ain't even your jurisdiction, I'm bettin'."

"Well, the Turks don't have any official jurisdiction, so you're probably right," Tseng said thoughtfully. "But we can still take you to a holding cell, if you like?"

"Turks?" Dayton asked, all his bluster vanishing immediately. "Who – you?"

"And me," Reno grinned. He gestured towards Rude, who was standing guard over Ike and the unfortunate Den. "And him," Reno finished.

Tseng looked at Dayton.

"I – er – it's not – That is - I reckon it's sorted. Misunderstanding. We thought he was pickin' on Hiko – didn't know about the phone. I'll give 'Ko hell when I catch up with the little shit."

"Hiko, Dayton, Ike and Den," Reno listed. "Shouldn't be too hard to find you – if we ever need to talk to you again. Better tell that kid to stay Underside, yeah?"

"Yeah – okay, okay. I got it. Can you take these off - please?" Dayton held out his cuffed hands, and Tseng released him. Reno stood upright by Tseng's side until Dayton and his two brothers had limped away out of sight, but then he fell to his knees, with a soft gasp of pain.

Tseng caught his shoulder. "How bad?" he asked.

"Not sure. Just bruising, I think. That big one – Ike – kicked me pretty hard in the back when I was busy with the others."

"Anything ruptured?"

"Don't think… Hurts like a bitch though. Damn it!"

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah – sure. In a minute."

Tseng looked at Rude. "Tell the others what happened. I'll get Reno back home – there's restore materia in the office. There's no reason to break up the party – I'll call if there's any problem, but I think Cure and sleep are all he needs." Rude hesitated. "You okay?" he asked Reno.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Reno told him, with a half smile. "You get back in there. I want the full report on what happens when Cass gets wasted, yo. An' keep an eye on Nic for me. She ain't used to drinkin' that much."

"Okay, Partner." Rude disappeared back inside the bar. Tseng knelt to help Reno to his feet, but as soon as he was upright, Reno let go of Tseng's supporting arm.

"I'm fine. I can get back on my own."

"Probably. But I'm still coming with you, to make sure. How do you always manage to find trouble, Reno?"

Reno limped along the street, his good hand massaging the small of his back. He hoped Ike's kick hadn't damaged a kidney. "It found me. Seriously – I was just making a call."

"And you explained that you were a Turk, and asked this Hiko's brothers if you could sort things out amicably?"

"Hell no! They had it comin'."

"I'm not disputing that. But there are other ways of settling arguments. I don't think you made the slightest attempt to bring this to a peaceful resolution."

"Ah, quit with the health an' safety crap, will ya? You'd a done the same."

"Three against one – not counting the boy? What if they'd been armed?"

"It was just a fight! That smaller one – Den – he pulled a knife, an' that's why I broke his arm. I have a knife, come to that. Didn't need it."

Tseng sighed. "Let's hope you're not badly hurt. If you need time off, you'll make up the extra hours for as long as it takes."

"What the fuck ever. Maybe I just needed to hit someone, yo." Reno glanced at Tseng sideways, before adding, "If it hadn't been them, woulda been – someone else."

Tseng looked away, and said nothing.

When they reached the brightly lit foyer of the ShinRa building Tseng broke the silence suddenly, exclaiming in a shocked voice, "Shit, Reno – you look terrible! Are you feeling okay?"

Reno's skin had a bluish tinge, and his eyes seemed unfocussed. His voice wavered as he said, "Yeah – I'll be fine… But, Cure sounds good." He attempted a laugh. "I – I'd rather not take the stairs…"

"Are you in pain?"

"Not much. But –" Reno's eyes rolled up into his head, and Tseng only just caught him before he hit the ground. Grunting with exertion, Tseng managed to lift Reno and carry him to an elevator, where he laid him flat on the floor and raised his legs up against the console in an attempt to get some blood back towards his head and heart. As soon as they reached the Turks' offices, Tseng lifted him again, setting him down in the corridor immediately outside the elevator, and running to his desk to retrieve the restore materia from the slot on his gun. Returning to Reno's side, he cast Cure immediately, watching anxiously as the green light bathed Reno in its mako glow, searching his pocket for the key to the weapons locker in case he needed to fetch a phoenix down.

Fortunately Cure seemed to do the trick. Reno moaned, but opened his eyes. "Holy fuck! That shit hurts worse than the injury, don't it? Thanks, Tseng. Guess I was worse than I thought."

"You'll need a scan. I'd bet on internal bleeding, and Cure doesn't always prevent the need for clear-up surgery in that case."

"Yeah – okay." Reno sat up slowly. "Reckon that did it. I feel fine now. I'll get down to medical. You should get back to the bar – you're missing all the fun."

"You told me you were 'fine' before. I'm not going anywhere except down to medical with you. Can you walk now?"

Reno got to his feet. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

x

The doctor, a brisk young woman who had plenty of experience patching up Turks and no truck with any nonsense, shook her head at the scan results. "Blunt trauma. Someone gave you a good kicking?"

Reno grinned. "Not as good as the one I gave him, yo!"

"Hm. Well, the Cure you received has stopped the bleeding, but there's a large haematoma – here." She indicated a dark oval mass in the cross section of Reno's abdomen on her computer screen. "It might reabsorb, but I wouldn't bet on it. We could put in a drain, but you'll be out of action for at least two weeks. Or we could remove it surgically. You can still have another two or three Cures before you reach the safe limit for twenty-four hours, so I'd recommend surgery. Cure will close the scar at once. A good sleep, and you'll be – well, I hesitate to say 'fighting fit', but you get the idea."

"Okay, that, then."

Tseng gave Reno a concerned look. "The less invasive the better."

"Yeah – but, I ain't makin' up two missed weeks!"

"You won't have to."

"But you said –"

"You didn't provoke the fight. I can clear it with Veld."

"Uh – you know, I kinda _did_. I mean, they started it, but I could've sorted it with words, if I'd wanted, like you said."

"But you –"

"Yeah?"

Tseng turned to the doctor. "I'd like to discuss the options with Reno, in private."

"Of course, Sir." The doctor withdrew, and Tseng said quietly, "I've read your file, remember. You hate general anaesthetics."

"Hate spending two weeks with tubes in me leaking fuckin' blood into a bag, too."

"Yes. But I don't want your choice to be based on anything but your own preference. You won't have to make up missed time."

"That's – nice of you. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why're you being nice? I fucked up, didn't I? Like you said, I could've stopped it. You saw what the word 'Turk' did to that fucker. They'd've caved."

"Probably. But you weren't on duty – and perhaps…"

"Yeah?"

"No, it doesn't matter. But you won't be expected to make up time."

"Nah. Thanks, an' all, but I'll take the knife. I'd go crazy stuck behind a desk for two weeks."

"All right then, I'll let the doctor know."

x

Tseng waited in the empty cubicle while Reno was in theatre. Absently he picked up Reno's crumpled clothes from their discarded heap on the plastic chair beside the space where the hospital bed had been. Shaking them out, he folded them neatly and put them in a pile on the nightstand. As he turned the worn, black jeans right side out, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Stooping to retrieve it, Tseng hesitated for a moment when he realised what it was.

Tseng looked at the slip of paper in his hand – the scribbled name _Reno_, and the damning tear in the top edge. Was this what had provoked Reno's bad mood, and led him into an unnecessary fight? Or had it been Tseng's inability to find an appropriate compliment that had started the chain of events that had led to this whole fucked up situation? Tseng told himself to stop being stupid. Just because he seemed to have developed some kind of ridiculous, childish, unprofessional crush on Reno, that was no reason to think Reno gave a damn what Tseng thought of _him_. Reno never seemed to care what anybody thought of him. The comment about wanting to hit somebody – that could have meant anything at all. Surely it was only Tseng's guilt about having cheated in the game that made him think it might have been directed at him? Had Reno noticed him tearing the paper, or had he merely put the slip in his pocket when he'd decided to leave, because he was out of the game? Had Tseng's belated and odd compliment bothered Reno, or had his smile at the others' hilarity been genuine?

Cursing himself thoroughly, Tseng felt a hot wave of embarrassment at the memory of what he'd finally blurted out. Why couldn't he just have said one of the things other people always tended to admire about Reno – interesting hair – nice eyes? The truth was he'd panicked, running through a list he knew by heart. Everything he'd considered had sounded too intimate in his mind; he'd been afraid that whatever he said would reveal his feelings – the desire he'd been so careful to keep hidden. In striving to find something suitable he'd only succeeded in being awkward and overly specific. Nice _wrists_? Tseng cringed mentally. At least everyone had assumed he was joking, and Reno hadn't seemed bothered. But Tseng had caught him looking at his wrists later. Yes – most likely wondering what on earth Tseng's problem was.

But Reno really did have nice wrists. Tseng supposed he'd first noticed because, what with the loose, casual way Reno wore his jacket and the fact that he'd never found one to fit his skinny frame perfectly, his wrists weren't usually visible at all. It had taken a broken air con unit and an unbearably hot afternoon in the office to get Reno to remove his jacket and roll up his shirtsleeves. Tseng remembered pausing half way through his own report to watch Reno typing, wondering what was arresting about the sight and realising that it was the mix of fragility and strength in his long-boned hands and those narrow wrists; something about the contrast with such graceful hands and the hard, lean muscles of his forearms. Tseng knew from painful experience during training that Reno could punch harder than anyone would guess from looking at him. People often underestimated Reno in general, which could be a very useful attribute in a Turk. For some time now Tseng had been thinking that, should he ever find himself in Veld's position, he would be wise to choose Reno as his second in command. Unfortunately that realisation had soon been followed by another much less welcome one: somewhere along the line, Tseng's professional admiration for his subordinate had metamorphosed into desire.

Of course it was absolutely necessary that such an inappropriate feeling should be quashed, but Tseng, who had always prided himself on discipline of mind and body, had found banishing such thoughts of Reno to be much more difficult than he had anticipated. In the end he'd settled for making sure that his feelings were perfectly concealed, but then he started to worry about his motivation for viewing Reno as a suitable candidate for promotion. To make sure that his assessment of Reno's professional capabilities was unbiased he'd started watching him more closely, reading the files of every mission Reno undertook, only to find that the more he strove to be impartial, the stronger his feelings grew. Reno was physically attractive, yes, but so were most of the Turks. But the more Tseng took notice of Reno, the more he found to admire. Competence attracted him, and Reno had a competence at once casual and ruthless that sometimes took Tseng's breath away.

It was almost two hours later that Reno was wheeled back into the ward on the hospital bed, drowsy, but already coming back to consciousness. The doctor gave Tseng a brief update before she left, saying that the operation had been a complete success and that Reno would be fit for work in forty-eight hours.

Tseng sat in the chair beside the bed, and waited. It wasn't long before Reno opened his eyes, and looked at him, unsmiling, but focussed.

"I didn't think you'd stay," Reno said. Perhaps it was the remains of the anaesthetic in his system making him unusually candid, but something caused him to add in a rather bitter tone, "You know, considering how you feel about me."

Tseng looked up, startled and, to Reno's surprise, actually reddening with obvious embarrassment. "I – I'm not sure what you mean," he said at last.

"Yeah y'are. All that stuff in the bar – cheating at the game… You sure went to a lot of trouble to avoid having to kiss me." He waited, but Tseng said nothing. Reno pushed. "Am I wrong?"

Tseng shook his head. "No," he confessed, meeting Reno's gaze with an effort. "No, you're not wrong."

"Huh," said Reno, his expression grim. "Didn't think so."

"I'm sorry," Tseng said. "I've tried to keep it under wraps – for a long time now. I was afraid of this happening – of it creating an atmosphere – difficulty working together."

"Yeah, I know. Which is why you always make damn sure we're never partnered on missions. Ain't it?"

"It is. I wanted to keep things professional."

Reno wished fervently that he'd kept his mouth shut. Tseng looked so uncomfortable he almost felt sorry for the bastard. But it hurt – having his fears definitely confirmed. "Was it – something I said? Something I did?" he asked. "'Cause I swear, I never meant –"

Tseng saw Reno's stricken expression and any hopes he might have secretly harboured of Reno returning his feelings immediately expired. How could he have been stupid enough to dream otherwise? He was supposed to be a professional – no wonder Reno looked so disappointed in him. "No! No – Reno, it's nothing you did. It's me – my problem. I hope it won't cause any difficulties in our working relationship in the future."

"Hell, Tseng, how can it not? I mean, I guessed a while ago, and tonight just made it obvious – but there has to be a reason, yeah? Like, I know I'm a bit – you know – full on… At least tell me it's just the physical stuff – the way I look an' shit, yeah?" For the first time in his life, Reno wished he'd made more of an effort – maybe even worn a tie on duty. If he'd _looked_ more professional would Tseng have felt differently? But Tseng was shaking his head.

"I won't lie – it was the 'physical stuff' at first. You can hardly blame me for noticing. But then I got to know you, and now it's – it's just - everything about you. I can't explain it. I know that sounds ridiculous… I can't seem to get it under control. But, Reno, I can assure you that when it comes to professional decisions – promotions, for example - I won't allow it to sway my judgement."

"Promotions?" Reno asked. "Yeah, well… I'm more professional than I look, you know?"

"I know you are. I never let the – the impact of your chosen style – affect my assessment of your competence. Reno, I wasn't going to ask you yet, but since it's come up… Veld asked me a few months ago to consider the question of whom I might appoint as my second in command, if I'm ever in the position of having to take over from him. I was thinking of you, if you're interested."

Reno tried to sit up, but Tseng put a hand on his shoulder. "No, keep still. Even with Cure your body needs time to recover."

Reno lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. "Ah, Hell! I don't know what to say. Yeah – yeah I wanted that promotion. But how can I take it knowing what you think of me?"

"It's not a factor in my choice, I promise you. I've been meticulous. When I found that I couldn't change how I felt, I was determined to at least behave fairly by everyone. I've looked at all your mission reports, made charts, compared your performance indicators with other members of the department–"

Reno's eyes flew open, and he sat up with a gasp of pain, fury written across his face. "Fuck _performance indicators! _How can you ask me to take on that role knowing that 'everything about me' pisses you off for some reason that you can't explain? I mean, what the hell, Tseng? You'd fuck some mark sideways into next week for info if Veld gave the order, and you can't even bring yourself to kiss me in some stupid bar-game? You can't think of one good thing – _one_ – to say about me except that I have _nice wrists_? So, what, you think offering me a job will make you feel better about this – this irrational hatred?"

It was the first time in his life that Reno had seen Tseng looking utterly taken-aback.

"What are you talking about, Reno? What hatred?"

"What - ?"

"I don't understand. I don't hate you!"

"You can't stand anything about me! You said so. The way I look – okay, I know, I should dress better, fair enough, I should make an effort, yo! But – _everything _about me? Seriously, Tseng, there ain't nothin' I can do about 'everything'. An' I'm sorry that you feel that way, because there ain't many people I give a flying fuck what they think of me, but you're one of them, yeah? I mean, you're the main one –"

"I don't hate you, Reno."

"Then what would you call it? Dislike? Irritation? Comes to the same thing."

"No. How did you ever think…? Reno, when you talked about my feelings I thought you'd worked out that I – that I seem to have developed the most inappropriate – It _was_ your looks at first, but now – everything about you…"

Reno's eyes widened with sudden, shocked understanding. "But – in the bar –"

"I was - afraid. I thought that if I had to kiss you everyone would be able to see how I felt. When Rude kissed you it was so obvious that there was nothing between you except friendship – camaraderie – and I knew that if I had to do it, there would be – _tension_."

Reno shook his head in disbelief. "Damn it, Tseng!"

"I know. I know you must be disappointed in me. But I meant what I said. This – attraction – is entirely my problem. It was nothing you did. You never gave me the slightest reason to think –"

"Only 'cause I thought _you'd_ be disappointed in _me_. Always wanted, but I never thought you'd ever… You know, I was never lookin' for approval from anyone but you. Wouldn't risk that – but the more I looked for it, the more I thought you couldn't stand me. Tonight, I was sure. When you said I had 'nice wrists', I thought it was because there was nothing else positive you could think of to say."

Tseng smiled, incredulous. "But you told me to take my pick! I thought your self-confidence was unshakable."

"Yeah, well – you know. Have a reputation to keep up! Don't mean I wasn't bothered though… Don't think anyone else could get to me like that, but – you -"

There was a long silence.

"The thing about maintaining effective facades," Tseng said, "is that people so rarely see beyond them."

"Hazard of being a Turk," Reno replied.

"Yes," Tseng agreed. "But also a strength."

Reno thought about that. "You're still not gonna kiss me, even now that I _know_. Are you?"

There was only the briefest of hesitations before Tseng said, "No, Reno."

Reno settled back on the pillow. "Yeah – for the best, I guess. Professional thing to do. Business as usual."

Tseng exhaled audibly. "Exactly," he said.

"So – I'd better get some sleep, yo."

"Yes. The doctor says you'll be fit for duty in forty-eight hours."

"Pft. See ya at work tomorrow, Boss." Reno gave a casual wave and closed his eyes.

"Good night, Reno."

When the sound of Tseng's quiet footsteps had faded, Reno opened his eyes again and lay still, staring up at the white tiled ceiling, thinking about facades, and how wrong you could be about people, and wondering how much room for hope might exist in the space left by the briefest of hesitations and the sound of a single uncontrolled breath.


End file.
